Once the poet Lev Rubinshtein worked in the library and wrote down his poems on index cards. He always reads them, too, sorting through the cards. For the first time, the Vremya publishing house published Rubinstein the right way: four neat boxes with cards that you can put in your pocket and take out and read like a mantra, turning over instead of a rosary, in line, on an airplane, in the subway.
Once the poet Lev Rubinshtein worked in the library and wrote down his poems on index cards. He always reads them, too, sorting through the cards. For the first time, the Vremya publishing house published Rubinstein the right way: four neat boxes with cards that you can put in your pocket and take out and read like a mantra, turning over instead of a rosary, in line, on an airplane, in the subway. Immersed in Rubinstein’s poetry, you will hear dozens of voices, yet singing in unison, you will feel the frosty freshness and burning awe of the Russian colloquial and the fact that it is the language that unites the torn world into a harmonious whole: «And you believed, fool?» “Yes, he is already oblique in the morning.” «You’d better take a walk with Mitka.» “Does she know from whom?” «In a week it will be a year.» “Oh, do you have to? And I didn’t know.»
Time, in 4 t.